


You'll Be Missing Out

by punk_rock_yuppie



Category: CSI: Miami
Genre: Dreams and Nightmares, Gore, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Suicide, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-10
Updated: 2015-09-10
Packaged: 2018-04-20 01:34:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4768577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punk_rock_yuppie/pseuds/punk_rock_yuppie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i> At first it isn’t so bad, they’re slumped over and partially hidden or they look somewhat peaceful. But as the lab grows darker and the stench gets worse, so do the positions of his team mates.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>Eric has a nightmare.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You'll Be Missing Out

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired faintly by the events in Avengers when they're forced to live through their worst fears. This is Eric's fear, you may notice the similarities to Tony's fear; I may write a companion peace for Ryan. Also, for those concerned, Ryan doesn't actually die.

It’s just like when the gas had been released onto their level of the department. Bodies are lying everywhere, not a sound is heard and not a one is moving. But this time, there is blood _everywhere_. It’s sticky on Eric’s shoes and it sloshes around him with each step. It soaks into his pants and he cringes at the feeling of it crawling up his leg. There’s nowhere he can look that isn’t covered in blood. The further he walks into the lab, the worse it gets.

The stench of rotting flesh hits his nose and he is immediately haunted by the sound of buzzing flies. He swears he saw the faces of his team as soon as he stepped off the elevator but as he continues he sees their faces again and again. At first it isn’t so bad, they’re slumped over and partially hidden or they look somewhat peaceful. But as the lab grows darker and the stench gets worse, so do the positions of his team mates.

Natalia is upright inside one of the labs, her face pressed against the glass and blood spilling from her mouth. Walter is sprawled on his side, guts spilling from his stomach and the ever subtle gasps for air chorusing with the flies around him. Calleigh is still somewhat alive as Eric approaches; her limbs are limp even though she’s standing, and blood is pooling around her and staining her clothes. She looks at him with nearly dead eyes and when she opens her mouth, she only says one thing:

_“Why?”_

Eric can’t breathe, suddenly, and it feels like he’s being suffocated and drowned and smothered all at once. The lights of the lab flicker before going dark. Eric at first thinks he’s going to stumble, fall, be put out of his misery and join his friends in the afterlife. But instead his legs keep moving even if he can’t see. The faces of his team fade away into the black until one is in front of him.

It’s Ryan.

Ryan is sitting, slumped against the furthest back wall of the lab. It’s the large, bay window that looks out onto Miami. The Miami sun is setting behind Ryan’s shaking, sobbing form. He’s in his usual t-shirt, suit jacket, and jeans. It would be reassuring and endearing if not for the blood around Ryan and the gun resting in his mouth. Ryan is sobbing, hasn’t seemed to have yet noticed Eric, and is holding the barrel of his pistol on his tongue.

 _“Ryan.”_ Eric murmurs but it comes out barely as a whisper. It doesn’t catch Ryan's attention. Eric tries to move faster, to get to him quicker, but his legs stay at the same even pace. He doesn’t even feel like he’s going anywhere, as though he’s trapped on a treadmill. It isn’t until the gun cocks that Eric finds himself directly in front of Ryan—

Ryan, who is looking up at his with soft and fearful eyes. Ryan who doesn’t look as aged as he truly is and is instead the same delicate age he was when he first became a CSI. His features swim in front of Eric, shifting between the Ryan he knows now and the Ryan before. Briefly, Ryan’s face melts to Speedle’s and Eric can finally feel the tears streaming down his face. Eric wants to crouch down and pull the gun from Ryan’s mouth but still his body won’t listen.

Ryan does it himself, removing the gun just enough so it rests on his lower lip. He speaks softly but it rings in Eric’s ears.

_“Why?”_

And as Eric’s knees give out Ryan swallows the edge of the gun again and pulls the trigger. Eric screams but no sound comes out. He screams as his eyes burn with tears; he can’t tear his gaze from the brain matter and blood and skull fragments on the window. The streaks of blood are striking yet gruesomely complimentary against the blood orange hue of the sunset. Eric’s body finally responds to his demands and he’s reaching forward, throwing the gun aside after pulling it from Ryan’s mouth. He grabs Ryan by the shoulders and shakes him softly, then harder, and then softly again.

He’s screaming but there’s no sound, there’s only the gunshot ringing in his ears.

))

Eric sits up from his dream gasping for air. The bed stirs beside him and it only scares him more. The dream is still flashing before his eyes and the screams and gunshots are still haunting him. He’s shaking, paralyzed with fear, and can’t move. His body is disobeying him just as it did in the dream. A grunt tears from his throat and it evolves into a soft scream; the pitch is low and he isn’t as loud as he maybe should be, but it wakes his bedmate.

“Eric?” Ryan asks in a soft voice. His tone changes as soon as he realizes what’s happening. “Eric, what’s wrong? C’mon, talk to me.” Ryan grabs Eric by the shoulders and forces them to face one another. Eric still can’t move but the panic is subsided thanks to the warmth of Ryan’s hands on his skin. “Eric, whatever it is, it’s okay.” Ryan makes an unpleasant face at the sweat pouring off Eric. “Jesus Christ,” he mumbles. Ryan lets go of Eric for a moment, just long enough to scramble out of bed and work his way over to Eric’s side.

Eric wheezes, trying to say something— _anything_.

“Shh, it’s okay, c’mon.” Ryan hooks one of Eric’s arms over his shoulders and lifts the older man from the bed. Eric walks okay and is only slightly unsteady. They move in slow, synchronized steps, to the master bathroom of Ryan’s apartment. “Shh, it’s okay, I’m here, everything is okay.” Ryan soothes. He props Eric up against the bathroom door and moves to the shower. Once the spray is a comfortable temperature he retrieves Eric and pulls him into the shower.

They stand under the spray together and slowly the feeling returns to Eric’s limbs. Water is dripping from his eyelids and hinders his vision. He stares at Ryan, who has decided to take advantage of the moment to begin washing himself. It sets a smile on Eric’s face to see Ryan behave so normally—for Ryan to be _alive_. He can’t stop himself from wrapping his arms around Ryan and holding him tight.

Ryan startles. “Uh, Eric?” He asks, not disturbed but certainly perplexed. “I’m here.” He says again because something tells him it’s what Eric needs to hear. “Whenever you’re ready to tell me what’s going on, I’d really appreciate it.”

Eric stays silent and loosens his grip only enough for Ryan to continue his regimen. Ryan scrubs two types of body washes across his skin with precision, and then does the same for his hair with a very specific shampoo and conditioner set. He smiles over his shoulder at Eric now and then but doesn’t pry, for which Eric is grateful.

After some time, Ryan turns in Eric’s grasp to begin cleaning him as well. He grabs the wash cloth that is specifically for Eric and lathers it with Eric’s preferred soap. Ryan scrubs him down gently, but thoroughly. Ryan doesn’t even hesitate to clean the more intimate areas of Eric’s body, and it only serves as fuel for the thoughts in Eric’s mind. They trade spots so that Eric is directly under the spray and the soap glides off of him.

Despite the fact he has hardly any hair—it’s taking a while to grow back this time around—Ryan grabs Eric’s two-in-one shampoo and conditioner combo and massages it over Eric’s scalp. Ryan grins and is careful not to get soap in Eric’s eyes. He rinses his hands first and then tips Eric’s head back into the spray. The soap dissipates easily and when it’s gone, Eric feels better—feels cleansed of his dream for the most part.

Ryan takes Eric by the hand, still not commenting on the man’s silence, and begins to dry them both with specific towels. Eric observes Ryan’s OCD as he often does: with fond amusement. Ryan links their fingers and guides them back to the bedroom. Eric stands by as Ryan changes the sheets.

 _No sense in getting clean just to sleep in some filthy sheets_ , Ryan always says, his voice ringing in Eric’s ears. Eric’s gaze briefly flickers to the clock on the nightstand and he’s startled to see it read back _2:37am_. Eric is pulled from the glowing green numbers on the clock when Ryan is in front of him again.

“Ready for bed?” The underlying tone of _ready to talk?_ is clear in his voice.

Eric nods, his first voluntary movement in nearly an hour. They step to the bed again and settle underneath fresh blankets and sheets. Ryan lets himself be crowded by Eric and doesn’t protest when Eric keeps their bodies pressed chest to chest. It’s unusual for them, as Eric prefers to spoon for an unidentified reason.

Ryan knows it’s because this is the first time Eric has been with a guy longer than a one night stand. They aren’t dating by any means, but they fuck like rabbits whenever they can. The heat and lust between them is electrifying and despite Ryan’s preference for full-fledged relationships, he enjoys what they have going on. He knows Eric is still dealing with his feelings, dealing with his Catholic upbringing and dismantling everything he was raised to think.

Ryan cups Eric’s face and waits, patiently, for the man to speak.

Eric opens his eyes with a feeling of new clarity. He speaks clearly, softly, and leaves no room for Ryan to interrupt. “I want to date you. I don’t know why we haven’t been dating all along and I’m fucking sorry it’s taken me this long to get this far. I care about you, I don’t want to lose you. I need you, Ryan.” Eric presses their foreheads together. “I don’t want either of us to have regrets about this, about us. Our job is a dangerous one, and we never know what tomorrow is gonna hold.

“I don’t want either of us to get hurt or—or _die_ wondering how the other one felt or what the fuck this was all supposed to be. I don’t want to die without you knowing I love you. I don’t want to pretend I don’t know what I’m feeling anymore. I love you, I fucking love you, Ryan, and I need you to know that.”

Ryan’s eyes are wide and Eric is staring directly at him. Ryan opens his mouth but can’t find the words to reply. Eric looks a bit sheepish but no less confident in his words.

“I-I love you too, Eric.” Ryan says as his lips split into a smile, a toothy grin. Laughter bubbles in his chest as though a weight has been lifted. “I love you too, _fuck_ , I do.” Ryan feels dizzy as he says the words, feels high off elation.  Eric matches his smile with added exhaustion. “Let’s sleep.” Ryan suggests. “And maybe you should call in sick tomorrow.”

“Only if you do too,” Eric murmurs with sleep tugging at his tone. Ryan laughs softly with a noncommittal hum in response. “Please don’t go.”

Ryan doesn’t know if Eric means about work in the morning, or in general, but regardless Ryan’s answer ends up the same:

_“I won’t.”_


End file.
